


bound to lose

by angstyloyalties



Series: once+always [10]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstyloyalties/pseuds/angstyloyalties
Summary: A look at the Pevensies during the year that stretched into lifetimes.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Lucy Pevensie & Peter Pevensie & Susan Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie & Peter Pevensie, Lucy Pevensie & Susan Pevensie
Series: once+always [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505669
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	1. HENDON HOUSE. FALL 1940

Talk of the Pevensie boys had rattled through Hendon House right from the start of the school year. The whispers had come from the students first, but by mid-winter, even their instructors would comment on the differences they’d seen in the boys’ character. 

They chalked it up to the war—children came back _changed_ from the country, after all. It was something to do with the time away from family and the strange distance from the war they could not truly escape. Peter had become a man, they said, restless for the need to do something for his country. And Edmund? They felt he had been young enough when he went away that he’d simply grown out of his childishness. 

But the other boys—boys who had also gone to the country and came back just the same—didn’t understand. Instead, they found something dark lurking in the boys that made them curious, and a bit uneasy. 

The difference was easier to see with Edmund. He was quieter and calmer now, hardly ever raising his voice. His even, pleasant tone followed him from the classroom to the schoolyard as he took to standing against his former friends when they tried to take things too far against the younger boys. He had a strange air about him in the way he walked around with his head held up, as though he had nothing to hide.

It took the first frost of winter for the sharpness of his eyes to drip into the dark circles that formed underneath. But if there was anything more curious than Edmund and the secrets that caused him to scream himself awake at night, it was his brother. 

The change in Peter’s demeanor came more slowly, and for months, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly what it was about the older boy that seemed odd. He had always been amicable, and the adults considered him a natural born leader—a proper example for the other boys. 

But the boys knew better, and when word finally spread of the supposed golden boy engaging in all out fist fights in the gymnasium late one early-winter evening, boys from across school grounds gathered without question. They were eager to see him fall from the pedestal he’d been place upon, to forego whatever hidden authority it was he seemed to hold.

Edmund, for his part, had known early on in the school year that something of this nature was coming. That it had taken this long was actually a bit of a surprise. Peter had been on edge the entire summer after they’d fallen from that wardrobe, and his restlessness had only gotten worse after they’d come back to school. The first true sign came when, after Edmund declined to join his old friends as they thought to bully some of the new students, Peter stepped in to keep them from bullying Edmund instead. He’d always stood up to bullies before, but his new eagerness to get into fights now was a surprise to the others. He was suddenly a strong hand first, and a quick word later. Different from before, with his patience teetering on a hair’s edge.

Edmund had let it slide. Brushed off the insults that came from ignorant boys and moved on. Neither he, nor Peter, had mentioned it since. There was nothing for them to say to one another that they did not already know, that had not already been said—in this life or the other. And the situation only grew worse as the cold settled in. For the both of them, though Peter’s stiffness was quieter than Edmund. The other boys couldn’t know. They wouldn’t understand even if they were told. All they could grasp was the gossip that spread when muffled screams began to wake the boys in Edmund’s hall each night. Worse yet were the whispers that spread about his softer, mid-dream murmurs. Names of places and people the other boys in his hall could never know. Pleas and desperate wishes that slipped past his otherwise tight lips in the midst of the middle of the night when the winter chill was darkest.

The younger boys at Hendon House weren't sure what to make of Edmund—he was quieter except when the world softened into winter; he was kinder except when he found the unspoken rules and regulations of the play yard or classroom unfair; he was all rough edges and sharp looks except when he sat to play chess with some of the other boys and could be caught sneaking curious, softer glances at his opponents. The last of these was most puzzling to his former friends, who found the tentative smiles and glassy eyes suddenly quite questionable and strange for someone who had been so as bitter and angry as them. It was unnatural, and it took just a few weeks for all the other boys to agree. Edmund Pevensie was, 

Peter asked him, then, why he never set the rumors on their head, to defend his character against the lies. Edmund was more than capable now with his silver tongue and sharp wit. But he had never felt it necessary to defend himself against anything that was not harmful. It would be a waste of energy, he’d replied, when Peter wondered how he wasn’t angry.

But Edmund _was_ angry. 

Leaving his home had made him angry. Returning to version of himself that knew nothing but bitterness made him angry. And having to watch Peter fight in such pointless brawls made Edmund angry. 

It was the third night this week, and hardly anything had changed over the course of these fights. There was no honor in them. Certainly none in the three boys who ganged up on Peter tonight, and possibly not even in his brother either, at this point—though Edmund didn’t dare to ruminate on that though for too long, else he would lose all sense of restraint and join the fight himself.

The whole school would run wild with speculation, then, he was sure of it. Edmund knew they already wondered why he hadn’t stepped in. He’d gained a reputation of stopping fights as of late, when necessary, and this was his brother. Surely he cared more about _these_ fights than the schoolyard scuffles he routinely interrupted. But three things kept Edmund in the shadows, watching quietly. 

The first two were connected, of course, because they lay with Peter more than they did Edmund. Peter was a king, accustomed to fighting his own battles, just as Edmund was, and he would not lend a hand unless it was requested. Certainly not in front of a group like this. Edmund refused to add bruises to his brother’s ego, refused to add insult to injury, because Peter was hurting enough already, no matter what he claimed to fighting for—it certainly wasn’t for Edmund’s reputation alone that Peter continued to climb back onto his feet and raise his fists. 

As reckless as he was, Peter wasn’t stupid, and neither was Edmund. This fight went beyond defending Edmund’s honor. Beyond setting the other boys straight about any rumors that might have gained traction about Edmund’s night time wailings, or his general demeanor and interactions with the other boys in his class. It had far more to do with Peter’s own frustrations than any of Edmund’s, and he remembered enough of his king’s wrath to know there was no talking to him in moments like this. Any physical exhaustion Peter felt would have to outweigh the anger first, and Edmund knew the boys he was fighting with would run out of energy long before that happened. Joining in the fight would not only be pointless, it would be worse for Peter in the long run, and Edmund couldn’t reasonably allow himself to do that. 

The last concern was smaller in degree, if only for the fact that it lay in Edmund’s own shortcomings, and not Peter’s anger. He would toss it to the wind in a matter of seconds if the first two restrictions no longer applied, but knowing his brother, it wouldn’t come to that. Not tonight anyway, which was likely for the best. Selfishly, Edmund hoped Peter’s stubborn pride would hold for just awhile longer, until the end of the school year, perhaps. He thought he might be big enough then. The recent straining ache in his legs was already hinting at rapid growth to come, and he welcomed it eagerly. No matter how much boundless fury he held in his bones, his body was still that of a wretched child’s, lacking the years of endurance and muscle and size he had built up in his other life. As he was now, Edmund worried that he may well do more harm than good by jumping into a fight with the body that knew only how to be a menace and not how to mend. But if he could just be bigger, stronger… 

Until then, Edmund had to settle for far less. Tonight, it meant he letting the others around him whisper ignorantly amongst themselves. It meant focusing on the exchange of blows and tamping down his anger while Peter got to expel his. It meant wondering which of them would lose their resolve first in this battle of wills. And realizing, abruptly, that after having lost so much already, they were already losing again. The truth was, he and Peter would need clear minds and proper hope to win the fight they were facing. 

Clarity and hope. There had been both in abundance—before, when their sisters stood at their sides without question.

All those years, Edmund must have taken it for granted. Because now, with both Susan and Lucy were across the way at Saint Finbar's undoubtedly facing battles of their own, he wasn’t sure how long any of them would last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i originally wrote this as a single chapter, interwoven over the course of the school year, but felt it would be better split into three chapters
> 
> as always, kudos and comments make the world go round!  
> come talk with me on tumblr;; [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)


	2. FINCHLEY. CHRISTMAS 1940

Helen Pevensie did not expect the winter holiday to be so difficult, for a time typically meant to be joyous.

John was finally back from the war front, and for the first time in nearly a year, the Pevensies household was full for the holiday. He would have to leave again, of course, but the family could celebrate together—it was more than enough for a Christmas present. The time spent apart from her husband had felt something close to a lifetime, despite having spanned just a year—to have him home again would be wonderful, especially with the children home from school. 

But if Helen had thought her children had changed after their summer away in the country, it was nothing compared to the shell of a man that appeared at their front door. He warmed to them, in time, but it was clear that the house was too quiet and the world outside was too loud for any semblance of the father and husband Helen had known before. In fact, between her husband’s detachment and the steady rush of whispers she did not understand between her children, Helen felt a bit as though she herself had gone away and changed. 

It was three nights after he arrived home—just two days before Christmas—that she recognized any semblance of holiday spirit in the house. 

Helen woke to find the rest of the bed empty, but soft music—jazz, she thought—was drifting through the halls, growing ever louder as she descended the stairs. Even laughter, a sound nearly forgotten to her by this point, reached her ears as she reached the threshold into the family room.

They had cleared the furniture to the walls and pulled out the sonogram, turning the room into a sort of dance hall. 

“Mum!”

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it certainly wasn’t to see Edmund cut across the room toward where she stood. The rest of her family was clearly well-engrossed in the late night dance party, and despite each of them wearing nothing more elaborate than their nightclothes—and, in Edmund and her own case, a robe as well—they all appeared alert, and a great deal better at finding the beat than she would have guessed. 

Peter and Lucy grinned at one another, in a way that wasn’t altogether uncommon for the pair of them—they had always been quite close and rather open with their affection, more comfortable in their skin than the other two. But it was still a welcome sight to see the pair of them as they had been before, particularly after the reports Helen had received from the administration at both Hendon House and Saint Finbar’s. Looking at them now, eagerly and brightly turning to the beats of the music, Helen never would have thought her youngest was challenging every figure of authority with wild theories of what she claimed to be proper government and her oldest was getting into fist fights with the other boys at school over nothing.

It was the type of behavior she had expected of Edmund, if she were honest. But of everyone, he had changed the most drastically. More subdued in his tantrums, if they happened at all. He said little, and when he did, his voice was always a calm, steady tone and his face smoothed in an even disposition. It was as if, while away, he’d finally understood that he did not have to shout to be heard among his siblings. It was as if he had discovered, truly, what it meant to have a family and to rely on them. It was comforting for Helen to see such a true smile on his face. It had been such a rare sight in the months before, she felt it was something of a privilege now, to be let in by her most private child. He’d always been a rather independent child, but he floundered less now—sturdier and stronger as he grew—as though he knew what sort of man he would become and how to keep from becoming someone, or something else. 

If Edmund had changed most, then Susan, it seemed, was the opposite. She seemed not not to have _changed_ so much as she had simply settled into herself. She had always been a bit of a mother hen, but since the holiday started, it had been clear that Susan hadn’t just adopted the role and the responsibility. She’d flourished and turned it into something more. She didn’t hover around the others so much anymore. She didn’t need to. The others, particularly the younger two, turned to her without question now, and when they didn’t, Susan choose simply to watch from afar and add her two cents in only when absolutely necessary. 

They had all become so different in ways Helen wouldn’t have anticipated, but as they each stepped in time to the music and laughed at each other’s happiness, she found—quite happily, in fact—that they hadn’t changed quite to the point of becoming complete strangers as she had initially thought. 

Even John looked more like himself now, smiling as he twirled Susan by the fireplace.

Her daughter was a young woman now, with her shoulders back and chin up, her movements graceful. But Helen had little time to truly appreciate the picture of father and daughter—Edmund was a evidently quite the gentleman now, bowing properly in front of her before extending a hand for her to take. He was smiling, in that new deliberate and cautious way of his, and for a moment, Helen hesitated. But over his shoulder and across the room, she caught sight of John, turned toward her. 

He, too, looked charmed. Much more himself, in this moment than he had in all the time he’d been home so far, and it was all she needed to finally take Edmund’s hand. She grew giddy as she watched the joy spread from the slight curve of his lips to the corners of his eyes, before he led them further into the room. It was nothing against Lucy’s squeals of delight as Peter picked her up mid-turn, but Helen found she didn’t quite care about what noise they might be making in the small hours of the night. 

The war had changed her family, and Helen was not so dull as to believe a single night of glee would negate those difference. Morning would still come, and with it would come the same strange stiffness that had been present in her family just that evening. But it was because she knew she would lose it that she wanted to enjoy this moment, while it was still hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk with me on tumblr;; [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)


	3. SAINT FINBAR’S. SPRING 1941

The spring term came and went in much the same fashion as the fall term for the Pevensie girls at Saint Finbar’s. Susan’s school work was finished well ahead of time without even the slightest smudge of ink in the wrong place, which was good and well, considering she spent the majority of her free time keeping her younger sister out of trouble, or convincing the school’s head matron that Lucy’s argumentative streak was more a sign of boredom and self-frustration than it was legitimate anger toward her instructors. 

It was a tiresome argument to make, each time Lucy acted out, but Susan preferred taking care of the matter herself over having administration contact their mother.

It was, partially, in effort to minimize her stress; none of the Pevensie children had missed the way their mother had been during the holiday break. Even with Lucy’s impromptu late night dances, the strain in the house had been palpable. 

On the other hand, however, Susan insisted she be the one to address Lucy’s disciplinary matters because she knew the true cause of the issues in a way no one else would. 

No one else could, and as they drew closer to the end of the term, Susan and Lucy’s discussion of the matter became rather truncated and route. 

“...can’t keep doing this, Lu.”

“Yes, I know, but what do you expect? Miss Halford was wrong, anyhow. Everything she’s been teaching this year has been completely inaccurate.”

Susan sighed and pushed open the door to the room Lucy shared with her two dorm mates. Prudence and Darlene were pleasant enough, but Susan rarely saw them.

“It’s history, Lucy. There is no right or wrong, just what was written down. Besides that, how do you even know it’s wrong in the first place?”

Lucy scoffed and dropped her books on her desk before falling back on her bed. “I just don’t see how any queen could possibly allow herself to be used like that. It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Susan took a seat at Lucy’s desk and stole a glance at the notes her sister had begun to take before she must have given up entirely on paying attention. The bottom half of the paper was covered in sketches of an all too familiar set of stone towers, complete with battlements.

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Lucy’s sketches of Narnia. They were all over their room at home, and tucked into just about every one of her books here, peeking out between the pages. 

There had been moments—brief ones—during the holiday, when Susan had thought to take them down from the walls of their shared bedroom. Or to ask Lucy not to put any more of them up than were already taped up. She didn’t, of course. It was Lucy’s way of coping. Who was Susan to tell her she could not hold onto what clearly made her happy? What made them all happy? 

Her eyes lingered on the sketches now longer than she wanted, but Lucy—still rattling on about the Tudors and their ridiculous, messy monarchies—did not see. 

It was always the same whenever Lucy had to be retrieved from the main office; something based in Lucy’s historical misgivings that had her discount her instructor’s teachings. Some methodology or theory about real life kings and queens that would not match what she had already learned and spent a full lifetime utilizing in her day-to-day experiences. This time was no different, but by this point, Lucy knew better than the bring up the real reason with Susan. 

They didn’t talk of Narnia outright while at school. 

Or rather, Susan didn’t. 

Lucy spoke of Narnia with little caution, no matter where she was or who could hear. And none of the others could keep her from it. They’d all tried, in the beginning. But Lucy had said that she shouldn’t _have_ to keep it a secret when no one believed her in the first place, and that sort of logic was difficult for even Susan to refute.

Still, she kept her memories of Narnia to herself more often than not, only allowing herself a moment or two to fall into them when she was certain she was alone. Or at home, when their parents were out of ear shot. 

It was a difficult thing to balance, all their memories of Narnia against the world they lived in now and what it asked of them. Susan felt the absence of her Narnian years sharply and she too was frustrated—with her lessons, with the rule she had to follow, with the societal expectations. She could not stand everything this world was that Narnia had not been, and she hated not having the power to change her circumstances.

It was why, in some ways, Susan envied Lucy. Even with her regular visits with the head matron, Lucy was every bit the young woman she had been in Narnia, still. She was physically smaller, of course, and had very little authority in the eyes of just about everyone else. But to Susan, she was still the same fiercely devoted, passionate, and earnest leader she had grown to be in Narnia. The only difference was that very few listened to her here in the same way. Children were not given the opportunity to earn the same level of respect as queens were, unfortunately.

“I don’t know,” Lucy sighed. “I just wish Aslan would hurry up and bring us back.”

Susan shifted uncomfortably, the way she always did when she heard the Lion’s name. Of her siblings, she had seen him the least during their stay in Narnia—he came and went without warning and without notice, to begin with, but it had been Lucy who had caught sight of him most often. Peter and Edmund, next. Then Susan.

She had not thought much of it until returning to England, when the stories began to pour out of the others in earnest. Edmund hadn’t thought it was anything to worry about, when Susan asked him about the difference between them, claiming he often saw or felt Aslan’s presence when he was most in need of it—of the reminder. He was the only one she mentioned the change to at all, though she was certain Lucy had picked up on her discomfort. Peter would too, she imagined, if he were not so concerned with the other family he had been forced to leave behind.

“We will go back, won’t we Susan?”

She picked her head up, then and looked over at her sister, surprised. It wasn’t often that Lucy asked for _her_ reassurance. 

“I mean, do you think we will?” Lucy had propped herself up by her elbows to get a proper look at her. It was nothing Susan was not used to, and yet she was still unsettled by the guilt she felt rising up her throat.

“I want to go back more than anything,” she confessed, because that much was true and she wouldn’t dare to lie to Lucy. “It’s been nearly a year though, Lu. I’m not…”

She trailed, watching her sister’s expression. Lucy had a tendency to wear her heart on her sleeve. She and Peter were alike in that way, but for different reasons. Where Susan wasn’t sure her brother knew quite what it meant to keep a straight face, Lucy simply had too much emotion to be able to contain it. Her heart was constantly overflowing. If Susan didn’t know better, she might have guessed that _that_ was the struggle her youngest sibling faced—she had too much in her for the body she was left with. Lucy had grown to be nearly as tall as their mother was, while in Narnia, and along with her height had come an overabundance of _life_ that someone now so small couldn't possibly deal with. 

“I’m not sure when, but I’m sure Aslan knows what he’s doing,” she finished softly, pulling her face into something more amenable than the wary apprehension that she felt. Lucy would see it anyway, she knew, but it wasn’t the worst thing, pretending.

Whatever Lucy noticed, she said nothing of it. Instead, she smiled and fell back again, this time with the same sort of blissful contentment as she had whenever she tossed herself onto any one of their beds. The coverings here were not quite as luxurious as the silk and satin sheets they were accustomed to at Cair Paravel, but to Lucy, it was of little consequence.

“Well, I’m glad the school term is almost done,” she mused. “I’ve a feeling he won’t keep us for too much longer.”

“It will be good to be home,” she accepted. Though, as she looked back at to the sketches of Cair Paravel’s exterior, Susan wasn’t sure which home she meant. 

She hoped, for both their sakes—for all their sakes—that Lucy was right, because Susan wasn’t sure how much more they could stand to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we go! this one hurt a bit to write, but i feel that way about anything surrounding the pevensies in the year between lww and pc. both in narnia and in england. 
> 
> kudos and comments would be lovely <33  
> come talk with me on tumblr;; [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)


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